Chapter Six
Three days. That’s how long Gabriel had managed to avoid the witch. Three days and three sleepless nights, torturing himself with the memory of those vexing blue eyes, of his hands on her body, his lips on her neck…
With every breath, he swore he could still smell the woman on his skin.
Fucking witches.
Why he’d ever thought this was a good idea was beyond him. Perhaps he’d suffered a head injury in battle.
He flipped open his laptop, queuing up the video feeds from Jacinda’s apartment, situated just one floor below his new penthouse. He’d purchased the fifteen-story building a couple of weeks before the attack on Bloodbath, already planning his relocation from Nevada. That he’d be using it to house a prisoner—a witch, of all things—had never occurred to him.
In the centu
